Redemption is for the Repentant
by if-llamas-could-fly
Summary: It's an abandoned church. There are needles and syringes on the altar. The King of Hell's all tied up, and Sam's pouring his soul out to a tiny dusty confessional. Did you really expect Crowley to not listen?


**A/N Right, so... College is still crap and I have tests, but a couple of days ago I was catching up on fanfic reading because I had a five minute break, and I stumbled across this story called ****_Confession _****by ****_Destiel07_****. It was amazing and I immediately favorited it, but that story got me thinking. End result of that thinking? I kinda took my laptop and cheated on my studying with some good old writing. This is the product. It's sassy and snarky and moderately fluffy but it's mostly angst because it's set in ****_Sacrifice_**** and what part of that episode ****_doesn't_**** make you want to jump off a cliff? Anyway, it's a Crowley POV which was ****_so_**** much more fun to write than it should've been, but whatever, I love that smarmy bastard. Enjoy! :) **_~Sammy_

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**_Redemption is for the Repentant_**

Crowley pulled at the cuffs encircling his wrists, even as he knew it was futile. There would be no escape this time.

That wasn't the point though, he already knew he wasn't getting away; it was just the _principle_ of the matter that had him struggling.

Little-_big_-Winchester was puttering about (And that may be a strange phrase to use for such a skilled and deadly hunter as Sam, _puttering_, but there really was no other way to describe it) and Crowley sighed obnoxiously a few times, just to remind the overgrown man that _yes_, he was _still_ here, and _no_, he was _not_ going to shut up.

Sam sent Crowley a look that made him understand the origins of the term_ bitchface_ in acute detail. Heck, he probably could've written a freaking book on the matter, if he could just slip out of these damn cuffs and-

Nope. No escape. Not _yet_, at least. _Hallelujah_.

Sam was lining up needles and syringes and bandages and Crowley didn't even _want_ to know what the boy was planning on trying, but he was ninety nine percent sure he _wasn't_ going to bloody well _like_ it.

"Signing up for a blood drive, Moose?"

Yeah, that's right. When in doubt, _snark_ your way past everything and hope to God (okay, not _God, _but you get the point) that your minions won't be idiots and fail to rescue you.

Sam just provided Crowley with a look that could fill a whole chapter in _Bitchface: Origins,_ _an encyclopedia of Moose_ _expressions_.

"Oh come on, honey. Don't be that way. Give me a kiss."

And _oh_, there was a _new level _to how absolutely _unamused_ Sam Winchester's face can be. Interesting.

"Shut up."

"Oh you're no fun, Moose. At least squirrel bites back."

"Shut up before I _make_ you."

"Oh darling, I _love_ it when you get all _controlling_ like that. Takes me right back to my _happy place_."

Crowley's going to have to cross-index that encyclopedia. There are too many damn bitchfaces to keep track of.

Sam sighed, and Crowley wondered if the Sasquatch's twisted expression could be permanently frozen that way.

The hunter wobbled on his feet a bit, and Crowley didn't even _know_ what his own face was doing anymore, because it seemed to be caught somewhere between a smirk and sympathetic grimace and he was a _demon,_ so what the _hell_ was he doing, _sympathizing_ with a damn _Winchester?_

He twisted his hands around in the cuffs a bit more (because that what Sam expected from him, and he'd rather _not_ have a suspicious Winchester all over his arse) and rolled his eyes.

"You're not very good at entertaining guests Gigantor. Though I suppose it _is_ hard to be hospitable when you can barely stay on your feet. The trials aren't treating you well, are they?"

_Bitchface number twelve_ of the evening was tossed Crowley's way, along with a soft huff that might have been a laugh if it wasn't so absolutely _depressing_.

Crowley just smirked (yes, it was a smirk, _not_ a whimper, don't be ridiculous) as Sam finally stopped fiddling with the needles and took a deep breath.

Crowley watched in silence as the hunter straightened up the slightest bit, and took a hesitant step towards the confessional. Sam eyed the battered door warily, almost as though he expected it to burst into flames the second he touched it (which was a mental image Crowley thoroughly enjoyed for a few moments) before his eyes hardened and he strode forward as confidently as he could on wobbly knees and unsure feet.

The door closed with a quiet creak, and if Crowley tilted his head towards the chamber to hear what was going on inside, you couldn't blame him, because _hello? King of Hell_ after all. Eavesdropping was Demonology 101.

"Forgive me Father for I have sinned."

Crowley snorted then, in disbelief. Here he was, all trussed and tied up like a damn _pig, _and Dumbo was _confessing_? He knew the Winchesters were strange, but this was pushing it.

Unless… unless this had something to do with curing him.

Sam's soft words were suddenly a _very_ interesting.

"I haven't- Uh… I haven't done this in a while. Haven't done this since Jess…well, you know what happened there."

Crowley rolled his eyes. Was the boy just going to ramble about his dead sweetheart and never going to move onto the juicier bits?

"Hell, I haven't really been in a Church since Lilith. I was just too… scared, I guess. Scared of what I'd become. I was _Lucifer's Vessel_. What place did I have in a Church? What else could the boy with the demon blood do in a Church but taint everything in sight?"

_Oh in the name of all things Damned_, this man is _drowning_ in self-loathing. Crowley could _feel_ the lack of self-esteem _oozing_ out of that cramped room the moose had holed himself up in.

"I don't even know what to confess. I know that Dean thinks he knows what I'm confessing. Hell, he even gave me a bucket list to pick from. But he's wrong. All of that- Stanford, Ruby, Lilith, Lucifer, me being a soulless bastard, not looking for him- that's not what weighs down on me the most. I _do_ feel guilty as all hell for that, more than even Dean knows, but that's not what I need to say."

Crowley squinted at the crooked door hiding Sam from his view, and tilted his head in a move he'd unfortunately picked up from Castiel in the time he'd worked with him. The hunter had just rattled off a list of sins that would have sent even the most forgiving of priests running for the hills, but there was _more_?

"I know Dean thinks I abandoned him this past year, and I guess in a way I _did_. It doesn't matter _why_ I did it, it's not like I'll ever tell him why, and he doesn't need that from me. Still, I abandoned him, and that's just another failure to add to the list. Another taint on my soul."

Crowley wouldn't have pegged Sam to be one for melodrama, but this was starting to sound ridiculously like those soap operas he'd watch in his free time.

"I know my soul's too messed up to ever _really_ be fixed, but I have to do this, because I _have_ to finish these trials. I _need_ to. So if doing that means I have to bare my soul, then I guess I'll just have to do it. So, uh… Father. My greatest Sin?_ Failing _Dean. Letting him down, again and again and _again_. It doesn't matter that I did everything I did _for_ him. That doesn't change the fact that I can see the disappointment in his eyes every time he looks at me. I'm confessing here so I can be _pure_, which is ridiculous, because how can _I_ be pure? I'm practically a walking soul-disease. I might be washed of my sins now, but that doesn't mean that Dean will ever forgive me. And if he doesn't forgive me, then… I don't think I'll ever _really_ be pure."

There were soft held-back sobs, behind that door, and while Crowley normally would have taken up the opportunity to toss out insults, he _couldn't_. Not _now_. Not when there was a bit of him- the human bit he'd always had bound and gagged and shoved in a corner- that was _begging_ for Sam to just _stop_, because those words were so _broken_, even _Hell_ never knew pain like that.

"So I guess what I'm saying here is… I need forgiveness. From you. From Dean. From _everyone_. Father, forgive me for my greatest sin. Forgive me failing him so many times."

The door groaned on its tired hinges when Sam pushed it open, and Crowley immediately took up his new hobby of testing the chains out again. No need to make the man any warier.

And if Sam's eyes were red-rimmed and watery, if he stumbled the slightest bit more as he made his way to the dusty altar, or if his breath was uneven and broken, well, Crowley didn't say a word.

He just rolled his shoulders, tugged at the cuffs, and put on his best smirk.

"Well then, let's get started, shall we?"

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**A/N So... I'm sorry? I know this probably left you as a drooling crying mess but let me know what you thought anyway! Reviews inspire more random one-shots and more procrastination via writing. :) **_~Sammy_


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